


Set Me Down in Your Warm Arms

by lionheartedghost



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x06, Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jaime Lannister is alive, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionheartedghost/pseuds/lionheartedghost
Summary: It was only then, as the brilliant blue of her eyes found his face, that he realised he hadn’t breathed properly since they’d parted.Jaime survives the collapse of the Red Keep and returns to Winterfell. He owes someone an apology.Fix-it fic for 8x05/8x06





	Set Me Down in Your Warm Arms

**Author's Note:**

> I like to imagine Jaime Lannister is still alive. It resulted in this.  
> Once again, thank you to Harriet and Lucy for hyping me up while I was writing. I appreciate it a lot.  
> Title taken from 'Set Fire to the Third Bar' by Snow Patrol, which is a song that features on my Braime playlist. Listen to it if you get a chance. It'll break your heart.

Tyrion had ushered him from the castle as soon as he’d been well enough to stand.  
  
“If you have any sense in that thick skull of yours,” Tyrion had said, holding the reins steady as his brother gingerly climbed onto his mount, “You won’t stop riding until you’re far from here. Far from anyone who might know your face. It won’t be safe, not until this... whatever _this_ is has been dealt with.”  
  
“Come with me.”  
  
Tyrion has shaken his head. “Someone would notice my absence in a matter of hours; nobody will be looking for a dead man.”  
  
Jaime had turned to look down at his brother, the still-healing wounds in his side twinging in protest. “Afterwards, then. I’ll have a cup of wine waiting for you.”  
  
“All I’ve done to keep you hidden and one measly cup is all you’re willing to spare me?” Tyrion had smiled.  
  
“Two, then.”  
  
“Jaime,” Tyrion’s voice had adopted a rare, serious edge. “Promise me you won’t go back to her until it’s safe to do so. There will be time, _after_. We can’t know who has eyes in the North.”  
  
Jaime had kicked his heels against his horse’s flank and tightened his grip on the reins. “You’re the one volunteering to stay amongst prowling dragons, little brother. Watch your tongue doesn’t cost you your head. It appears I don’t need to explain to you how volatile these Targaryens can be.”  
  
“Jaime,” Tyrion had stepped out of the path of his horse, “ _promise me_.”  
  
Jaime had ridden away, a cloud of ash kicked up in his wake.  
  
He wouldn’t make a promise he couldn’t keep.  
  


*

Jaime Lannister was almost unrecognisable from the man he had been a few short years ago. The long golden hair that had defined him showed no signs of growing back in the way it had before. In truth, it was hardly blond anymore, dark enough now that he could blend in with the northerners, if he was lucky. He looked a damn sight older now too, though he was loathe to admit that quite so readily. There was grey in his beard, lines across his forehead, and he could no longer find that glint in his eyes, the haughtiness he’d once worn like armour.

He supposed the hand was the biggest change of all, though, the only change that marked him out for who he was more obviously than before. Did you consider taking it off? Tyrion had said, in a tone so wry Jaime hadn’t had to look up to know he was rolling his eyes. He hadn’t then, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to ride if he followed his brother’s suggestion now. He settled for draping his cloak over his right arm, hoping that would be enough to conceal his identity for the time being.

He had looked so unlike himself, or at least so unlike the image of himself most known to the smallfolk, that the tavern keeper had barely spared him a glance when he’d stopped that first night. Jaime had caught sight of the dust from the rubble that still flecked his doublet - Tyrion hadn’t been able to procure him new clothes without arousing suspicion, so these had had to do - and couldn’t help but think of what his father would say to see him in such disarray. The state of the leather, for one thing, was hardly befitting of a man named Lannister. Perhaps it had done him a favour.

A pit had begun to form in his stomach as he approached Winterfell. He didn’t care about which of the Targaryen girl’s loyal advisors may or may not be watching out for him, couldn’t give two fucks about what the Dragon Queen might want to do to him were she to discover he still lived. He’d been doing her a favour, returning to the Red Keep to take Cersei’s life with his own hands. He could have won the war for her without a single innocent life lost. And she had burnt them all anyway.

No, it wasn’t the girl that concerned him. It was the thought of seeing _her_ again. He had left her alone, sobbing in the courtyard in the dead of night, the woman who had never opened herself up to affection from any man but had somehow deemed him worthy of hers. He had shared her bed, stroked her cheek, kissed her with a longing so deep that he’d forgotten where he ended and she began. They had fit together so beautifully. Her face had been peaceful that night as she slept, oblivious to the way his own mind was warring beside her. He had held her in his arms a final time. And he had left her.

He had told her plainly: Cersei was hateful, and so was he. He had watched Brienne’s face crumple, heard her beg him not to leave, and he had known it was true: only a hateful man could hurt her as he had.

She had been in the courtyard when he’d arrived, looking on as Podrick Payne sparred with another squire. A proud smile had tugged at her lips after a particularly well-placed blow, although she’d wiped it away before Podrick noticed it. She’d let her gaze drift, surveying the other sparring matches before her.

Her eyes had landed on him.

It was only then, as the brilliant blue of her eyes found his face, that he realised he hadn’t breathed properly since they’d parted.

The sounds in the courtyard had fallen away. He could feel the weight of a dozen stares, but he’d paid no heed to any but hers. He’d waited for her to say something. To scorn him for returning. To curse him for leaving. To throw her arms around him, or wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze, as he had done to Cersei. But no; that wasn’t her way.

“You’re alive.” It hadn’t been a question.

“I do appear to be,” he had agreed.

“Lady Sansa will need to be notified. You,” she’d turned on a gaping boy to her left, “see Ser Jaime to the council chambers.”

“Brienne.” He had dismounted his horse, thrusting the reins into the hands of the squire closest to him.

If she heard him call her, she ignored it. She strode back towards the castle with her head held high, Podrick close at her heels. Jaime wasn’t sure what he had expected. He let the wide-eyed boy charged with his care lead him along the hallways he already knew and took up station in the council chambers, as instructed. They were empty but for him.

Lady Sansa swept into the room an hour or so later; Jaime couldn’t tell if the ice in her eyes was her northern blood or cold fury that he had been brazen enough to show his face here. She took her seat in her brother’s throne as Jaime rose to stand before her.

“My lady.” He had bowed as low as his injuries would permit him. Lady Sansa watched him grimace, letting him stay on his feet for a moment longer than was comfortable before she nodded for him to sit.

“You were believed dead, Ser Jaime.” She narrowed her eyes. “Would I be wrong to assume your brother had some hand in your miraculous return to life?”

Jaime smirked despite himself. “My brother likes to do his share towards achieving the impossible, my lady.”

Lady Sansa placed her hands carefully on the arms of the throne. It suited her, he thought. Who would have thought the spoilt child who had arrived in the capital all those years ago would grow to fit power so well?

“They say you killed Cersei,” Lady Sansa continued. Her features were set in an expression of neutrality, but he could hear the curiosity in her voice. She leant forwards almost imperceptibly in her seat.

“I did, my lady.”

“Yet you fled King’s Landing as a dead man rather than claim glory for your act?”

“Tyrion and I believed the Tar-… forgive me, my lady, we believed Queen Daenerys might misconstrue my actions as an attempt to take the throne for myself. We were hesitant to do anything that might cause her offense, however unintentionally.”

“Queen Daenerys is dead.”

Jaime blinked. “My lady?”

Lady Sansa procured a scrap of paper from the folds of her dress and held it out to him.

“We received a raven from King’s Landing yesterday morning,” she said as he unrolled it. He didn’t recognise the careful script printed there. “It seems you are no longer the only Lannister brother who can claim to have killed a bloodthirsty Targaryen monarch.”

Jaime’s lips moved as he searched for words, but none came. Tyrion had been the one to end it? Of course, he should have known his brother would blame himself for the destruction, but he’d never anticipated _this_.

“Is…” Jaime faltered. “Where is my brother now?”

“In Jon’s custody. Given the nature of Daenerys’ crimes, I expect your brother will be pardoned.”

Jaime exhaled in relief. “Thank you, my lady.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Lady Sansa replied bluntly. “Although, Ser Jaime, there is something _you’ve_ done for which I must voice my disapproval.”

“My lady?” Jaime frowned.

“It isn’t any of my business,” she said delicately, “but I can’t say I’m pleased at the way Ser Brienne was treated at your hand. She vouched for you to remain in the North. I invited you to stay at Winterfell as my guest at her request. This is the way you repay her?”

Jaime forced himself to hold her stare, her eyes sharp enough to cut into him. “It was never my intention to cause Ser Brienne harm, my lady. I mean to make things right when… or if… she will allow me to.”

“See that you do. For now, the guest chambers remain empty. They’re yours until my brother returns. It will be for him to decide whether you are permitted to remain at Winterfell any longer.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He stood as she did, bowing low with another wince.

*

He had found his own way to the guest chambers. He hadn’t made use of them even in the last weeks he had still been a guest of Lady Sansa; he’d found the company had been better in Brienne’s chambers. Whether or not she ever allowed him into her chambers again remained to be seen. Until then, he would have to make do with what he had.

It was a week later when the knock at his door finally came.

“Enter.” Jaime called absently, watching as the fire tore the bark away from the log he’d thrown on it, the wood curling away into the ash below. The door swung open with an injurious creaking. A throat cleared.

“Ser Brienne requests your presence in her chambers, Ser.”

Jaime looked across at the squire at his door. “Podrick Payne,” he said by way of a greeting. Podrick gave him a curt nod.

“Ser,” he repeated. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed politely. The smile forming on Jaime’s lips died away.

“I see you’re angry with me too.” Jaime reached over to grab his golden hand, laying his right arm on the table so he could reattach it to what remained of his right wrist. He’d taken to removing it whenever he had time to himself; Lannister gold weighed heavily on him nowadays.

“It’s not my place to be angry, Ser,” Podrick replied, unable to fully quell the disapproval in his voice. He paused, watching Jaime unsurely. “Ser, do you need-”

“I’m fine thank you, Podrick.” Jaime looped the last strap into place and raised his arm experimentally. Nodding to himself, he got to his feet. He paused long enough to throw another log on the fire and crossed to the door, waiting to grant Podrick the courtesy of leading the way.

“I wouldn’t hold it against you,” Jaime said. “I hurt her. You care about her. She deserves people in her life who are faithful to her.”

“She thought you were one of them.” Podrick stopped so suddenly that Jaime almost ran into the back of him. “Forgive me, Ser. I misspoke.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jaime said. “You meant it.”

Podrick held his tongue.

“You’re right. I won’t berate you for speaking the truth.”

Podrick nodded stiffly and carried on along the hallway.

*

Jaime waited out of sight as Podrick rapped at the door to her chambers. He remembered the last time he had done so, finding his way along the stone passages by candlelight, unable to keep the grin from his face. She had opened the door to him, her eyes bright, tugging him inside by his arm. He doubted she was at all eager to see him tonight.

“Ser,” Podrick stepped into the room, moving inside to allow him to follow.

She was sat at the little table by the fire, her hands clasped expectantly atop the wooden surface. Someone had brought another chair; it sat opposite her, pulled out ready to be used.

“Thank you, Podrick.” Gods, he’d missed the sound of her voice.

Podrick lingered by the door. “Ser, did you want me to…”

“No, Podrick, thank you. That will be all for tonight.” He nodded and left without a word, pulling the door to her chambers closed behind him.

“He’s a good lad,” Jaime’s lips twitched into a smile.

“He is,” Brienne said. “I’ve never met anyone so loyal.”

There it was.

“Yes.” Jaime bit the inside of his lip. “Brienne-"

“No.” Her eyes found his, just as they had in the courtyard. “You had your chance to speak. Now you’re going to listen.”

Jaime held his breath.

“When I was a girl my father held a ball in my honour.”

“The night you danced with Renly Baratheon,” he said. She fixed him with a pointed look; he closed his mouth again.

“Before Renly danced with me,” she paused to press her lips into a thin line, “the other boys pretend to care for me. Pretended to fight for me. They waited until I truly believed they might love me, and then they ridiculed me. They sneered and they laughed and they made certain that I knew that I would never be loved in the way the other ladies were loved. And I promised myself,” she swallowed, taking a breath, “I _promised_ myself I would never let myself be humiliated as I was that night. I had kept that promise to myself all these years. And you made me break it.”

He reached over to her and took her hand in his, pressing his thumb gently against her knuckles. She looked away, began to pull her hand free, but he tightened his grip. He leant towards her imploringly, stared into the sapphire blue of her eyes and felt his chest tighten as his own eyes began to sting.

“Brienne,” he clung to her name like a lifeline. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant… I was trying to do the right thing for _once_ in my wretched life. I was trying to be a _good man_.”

“You are a good man.” She set her shoulders, studied his face. “You _were_ a good man. You could have stayed. You _should_ have stayed…” he heard the words she held back. You should have stayed _with me_. “Your sister would have been killed whether or not it was by your hand.”

“Cersei was the most hateful part of me-”

“And she was almost the death of you. You were willing to _die_ for her; she would have taken your soul with her.”

“I’ve been a knight of the seven kingdoms since I was fifteen years old,” Jaime said carefully, “and the only time I have ever truly served the people was when I slayed their king.” He huffed a humourless laugh. “Betraying the throne is the only good I know how to do.”

“You could have died,” she said. “The seven kingdoms would have lost you. Your brother would have lost you. I-” she stopped suddenly, her voice breaking. She clenched her jaw as she regained control of her breathing. “I would have lost you.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “And all for Cersei.”

“I’m sorry.” The words lodged in his throat. The lump blocking them wouldn’t clear away, no matter how hard he tried. “Brienne, words are not enough to tell you how sorry I am.”

She let go of his hand and reached across to cup his face, stroking her thumb against his cheek. He hadn’t realised he was crying.

She stood, rounding the table until she was at his side.

“Jaime.” His name on her tongue. He raised his chin.

She kissed him.

This was how breathing felt. This was how _being_ felt. This was home, here in her arms, her lips pressed against his, her soft skin pressed against his face. His hand cupped the back of her neck as her fingers carded through his hair.

They were standing somehow, fumbling limbs and desperate touches as she helped him loose the ties of his shirt, just as she had that first night they’d spent together. Between them they pulled the material over his head, letting it pool at his feet. He reached to help her with hers.

She stilled.

Her hands lowered from his head, falling to the angry scars on his stomach.

“When…” her eyes flickered briefly to his face. “When did this happen?”

“I didn’t leave King’s Landing unscathed,” he said gently. “The wounds have healed well, though. The marks will fade in time.”

“Cersei did this?”

“Gods, no. A rather enthusiastic pirate.” His lips quirked into a grin. She didn’t smile back. She traced her fingers over the raised bumps.

“Do they trouble you?”

“No.” She raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Not often. Barely at all.”

“You’d think a man with your experience would have learnt how to lie convincingly.’

“Ser Brienne, are you saying I’m old?” He was desperate for her to catch his eye and return his smirk. She moved her hands from his wounds at long last, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

“Jaime.”

He reached for her hand again, perched himself on the end of her bed and guided her down beside him. “Brienne. I’m alright.”

Her eyes fell to his wounds once more.

“I’m alright,” he insisted.

“You never should have left,” she murmured. “You wouldn’t have been hurt if you’d stayed.”

“That’s why I need you,” Jaime smiled. “You’re the sense I don’t have.”

“Then you should listen to everything I say from now on.”

“You’re right.” His lips found hers again. “What would you have me do?”

“Stay with me,” she intertwined her fingers with his. “Please don’t make me beg this time.”

“Never again,” he pulled her close to his chest, pressing his lips to her temple. “I promise. I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember who I was talking to when we theorised Tyrion could be the one to kill Daenerys so that both Lannisters would have killed Targaryens, but it stuck with me while I was writing this and I had to slip it in.  
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment/kudos if you have a moment!


End file.
